What Sweet Seduction
by CelticHeart
Summary: EOW. Set immediately following the 2004 movie, Erik is given a chance to start over once again ... a new identity, a new country, a new life. But will he be able to truly change, or will the past repeat itself? Rated for future chapte
1. One Fateful Night

**_A/N Thank you to all the PPNers who have been so unbelievably supportive in all of my new endeavors this year ... the website, the__ Board, the Chat Room, and now this ... writing phics._**

_**A special thank you to my wonderful betas -- Mandy the O and Musique et Amour.**_

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Erik stumbled through the labyrinth, confident in his ability to outrun the mob screaming for his head and his blood. He had no time to think what would become of him once he reached the streets of Paris … a man with a price on his head and the face of a monster.

Antoinette Giry, the Opera's ballet mistress and his only confidante, was waiting for Erik at the door to the alleyway. He stopped short at the sight of her, wariness etched into his eyes.

"Come now, Erik, and be quick. We must get you out of Paris as soon as possible," she whispered urgently as she grabbed his arm.

Realizing he truly had no choice in the matter, Erik reluctantly allowed her to pull him through the streets and alleyways of Paris, until they reached her tiny flat. Once safely inside, Antoinette bade him to take a seat. She crossed the room to her writing desk and rifled through a drawer until she pulled loose a packet. Then, turning, she placed it into his hand determinedly.

"This contains everything you need to start a new life for yourself, Erik. There is a letter of credit from the bank, a birth certificate identifying you as 'Erik Lefevre' and passage to San Francisco, California."

Dumbfounded, Erik could only gape at her, open-mouthed. When he finally found he could speak, he only managed a stammer. "But … when … _why_ … how … ?"

A weary expression crossed her stern face as she sat across from him. Arranging her skirts, she then leveled her eyes upon him.

"I began making these arrangements for you once you allowed Christine to see you. It was obvious your infatuation would lead you into danger. I have guarded you for over half your life, Erik, and I am not about to sit back and watch you be hung now. And how, well, that was simple. 20,000 francs a month for the past several years, invested wisely, has left you a wealthy man, Erik."

"I...I cannot accept this. Wh...what would you have me do, Antoinette? A man my age? To...to start ov–..."

At his broken protests, Antoinette continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"Erik, as you are well aware, I have placed not only myself, but my daughter, at great risk by helping you in this way. All I ask of you is to take this packet and leave Paris at once. Do not ever look back, Erik, and do not return. There is nothing for you here."

She tempered her harsh words with a gentle pat to his hand. She then left the room, returning moments later with two packed satchels. The black leather packs were precisely what Erik would have chosen for himself had he purchased them. The rich appearance spoke of one with a discerning eye for beauty.

At his stunned silence, Antoinette smiled slightly and opened the satchels. White dress shirts of the finest linen, black dress pants, and jewel-toned waistcoats were brought out of the satchels for Erik's inspection, followed by a black cloak and fedora. The _piece de resistance_, however, was the mask; tooled of soft, kidskin leather, it was pale and flesh-toned. At first glance, the casual observer would not even realize the mask was there.

"Erik, if I have overlooked anything, you will be able to purchase it. I had used your funds to hire a driver. He has been well paid to be discreet, Erik, and he will help you obtain any additional items you may require."

* * *

As he was not one to eat or drink unless necessary, Erik wasted no time in going straight to his bathing, then dressed in his new clothes and customary black leather boots. 

The final step was putting on the new mask. Erik was leery; he found it hard to believe that the mask would fit properly over his twisted flesh. But at Antoinette's urging, he finally did so and reluctantly turned to face her. She gasped.

"Look in the mirror, Erik," she urged in a shocked whisper.

Knowing it would be churlish to refuse her this – she who had saved his life not once, but twice – he slowly turned to face the mirror. He could not hide his shock. Although the mask fit like a second skin, it smoothed out the deformities it hid, making him appear as a _whole_ man.

Humbled, Erik could do no more than gaze at her in wonder. "I can never repay you for this, Antoinette."

"All I ask is that you leave Paris, Erik, and never return," she repeated. "You are being given another chance to build a real life for yourself. Go and do so."

And so, with dubious acceptance, the Phantom of the Opera was dead and in his place Erik Lefevre set out to start a new life in the 'new world.'


	2. Fleeing France

_**A/N Thank you for the reviews! Now I really feel guilty (because I rarely review)!**_

_**Thank you, also, to my betas ... Mandy the O and Musique et Amour ... Y'all are wonderful to work with!**

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_

As Antoinette had promised, there was a carriage waiting for Erik outside of her flat. His normally agile brain could still not entirely comprehend the events of the evening, and he moved as if in a fog. 

Startled to partial clarity by the waiting driver taking his bags, he watched him while the door to the carriage was opened. Erik pulled himself into the carriage wearily and sank back in the seat, eyes closed.

He started when he heard a familiar chuckle. Opening his eyes, he relaxed slightly and frowned. Antoinette's final 'gift' to Erik was summoning Nadir, a reluctant acquaintance that had turned into a friendship forged out of circumstances. Having no reason to remain in Paris once Erik left, Nadir quickly decided to accompany Erik on his trip to his new life.

"I would hope, Erik, that the events of this evening have convinced you that you must leave your violence behind," Nadir offered dryly.

Erik was too tired to defend himself or argue with his friend. He did not expect Nadir to understand; _no one_ could understand what his life had been like both before the Opera and beyond.

Erik had met Nadir – the _Daroga_ – on a trip to Persia when he was a younger man. Already living in the lair he had created and furnished in the cellars of the Opera House, he ventured to other countries, staying for months at a time when the monotony, the never-ending _sameness_ of the days, threatened to drive him mad. Antoinette was not pleased the first time he had left; but once she realized that he would, in due course, return she had stopped fretting over his travels.

And like Antoinette, Nadir had saved Erik's life, but in that other land. So, it seemed fitting that his friend accompany him.

Once they arrived at the train station, the driver opened the carriage door, and then handed over their bags straight away to the attendant. Being wealthy certainly eased the way for the travelers.

For the first leg of their journey, Erik and Nadir had tickets for the train to Boulogne-sur-Mer.

Although they did not have private accommodations, Erik and Nadir settled into the last group of seats and had a modicum of privacy. Erik instinctively faced the rear of the train, keeping his masked side in the shadow.

Nadir noticed and said with a low chuckle, "There is no need to hide, Erik."

Erik ruefully agreed. "It is difficult to break the habits of a lifetime," he admitted quietly.

The train ride was uneventful and they soon found themselves at the docks in Boulogne. Stopping at an inn, they ate breakfast as Nadir was not nearly as willing as Erik was to skip a meal. They were to take the next ferry to England; the timing was such that they did not have long to wait.

Erik was not among the passengers looking back as the ferry pulled away from France. He had learned long ago … he did not look back.

Crossing the English Channel could be treacherous. The port at Dover was inaccessible except during high tide, and double-high tides were not unheard of. Fog and a strong current as the Irish Sea and the Atlantic Ocean met compounded the problem. Fortunately, access to the port at Folkestone was not tide-dependent, and in a matter of hours, Erik and Nadir were settled on the train which would take them to Liverpool.

Although they could be in Liverpool in eight hours, Nadir realized Erik was chomping at the bit over the forced inactivity and so suggested they spend a day or two in London. Their ship to America was not to sail for several days, and Nadir reasoned that Erik would be safer staying in London than Liverpool, a city of cut throats and pickpockets, so Nadir spoke with the conductor and rearranged their itinerary.

Neither man had visited England before, even though their travels had extended far. Nadir was more tolerant of the Britains' behavior than Erik. Erik considered the English and their language to be insufferably boorish, but at Nadir's urging, he hid his distaste. The other choice would be to hide in their hotel room, and although Erik cherished his privacy and craved solitude, he did _not_ care for captivity.

The tourist Season had not yet started, so London was relatively quiet. The two men walked the streets of London by the hour; Erik brooding, Nadir cautiously optimistic that his friend was going to be able to start over. Although not rushing about, the two men walked with purpose and the few beggars who saw them gave them a wide berth, intimidated by their strange appearances and demeanor.

On the third morning as Nadir was enjoying his breakfast and Erik his tea, they heard excited whispers about a tragedy at the Opera House, which ended with the death of the Opera Ghost. Such was the excitement about the news that no one seemed to notice the incongruity of that; _how can a ghost die_? Erik did not enjoy being gossiped about, but Nadir was pleased with the news. The death of the Opera Ghost meant that the bounty on his head was now lifted. Although Erik's new mask hid his deformities quite well, Nadir admitted to himself that he would breathe easier once he and his friend were settled in San Francisco.

Antoinette had not included a Punjab lasso, for the obvious reasons, nor a knife when replacing Erik's possessions, and he decided he would remedy that at the first possible moment. Had he been traveling alone, a few well-placed coins would have gotten him the information he needed; Nadir's presence complicated the matter, for Erik knew the Daroga would not approve of his plan to obtain weaponry.

Settling their hotel bill, the two men returned to the train-station and boarded for Liverpool. Arriving in Birmingham, they decided to spend the night. While Nadir was distracted making the arrangements for yet another unexpected layover, Erik slipped away.

Birmingham was one of the hubs of the Industrial Revolution in England; but unlike other industrial cities, manufacturing in Birmingham was made up of workshops rather than sprawling factories. Even so, it did not take Erik long to locate a person who would, for a price, obtain the items Erik needed. Once the lasso and the knife were secreted inside his cloak, Erik returned to the hotel in time to accompany Nadir to dinner. Realizing that he could not remember his last meal, Erik reluctantly agreed to eat.

Nadir waited until they were enjoying their after dinner drinks before confronting Erik. "So, my friend, you do not understand the wisdom of changing your ways?"

Erik stared unwaveringly at Nadir, a hint of admiration, yet chagrin, in his eyes. "I won't ask how you know," he began. "But two wealthy men are easy prey for beggars and thieves."

Nadir shook his head. "Violence is not the answer, Erik. Surely you have realized that by now."

"I am not looking for violence. I purchased the items for self-defense."

Sighing, Nadir let the subject drop, but he could not quite hide the disappointment he felt with his old friend.

Liverpool was a bustling seaport and in Erik's opinion, they could not leave soon enough. _So many people! So much dirt! So much noise!_ He silently thanked his friend for arranging their layovers in London and Birmingham; he would have gone mad had he been forced to endure several days in Liverpool.

Erik was relieved to discover that he and Nadir had adjoining staterooms. Much as he enjoyed his friend's company, he missed his solitude. He was strangely saddened by the thought that his days of not speaking to another human being for days at a time had ended.

His stateroom, though small, was comfortably furnished. Erik noticed, with unease, that someone had taken the liberty of unpacking his bags, and he complained vehemently about that to Nadir.

Nadir quickly covered his laughter; Erik was not amused. "Erik, you are a wealthy man. There will be someone around to see to your needs for as long as you wish."

Erik stared at Nadir, dumbfounded. "And who, pray tell, decided it was _my wish_ for my possessions to be disturbed?", he snarled.

Shaking his head, Nadir pressed on. "There will be valets at your beck and call, Erik. The valet will be responsible for cleaning your stateroom, which includes taking care of whatever possessions you have left lying around. There will also be valets on the train we are taking from New York City to San Francisco," Nadir warned him.

Although clearly unhappy with this news, Erik sighed with resignation. He had, after all, caused the disaster – the tragedy – which brought about this need for change. "I apologize, Nadir. I am simply not used to having others around … much less being concerned with my welfare or my wishes."

Knowing how difficult this trip was on Erik, Nadir graciously accepted the apology. "You will do well, my friend," he reassured Erik. "This is not the first time you have had to start over, and you are in a better position than ever to create the life of an ordinary, albeit wealthy, man."

The weather was clear and Erik spent many hours on deck. He made the other passengers uncomfortable, and he was the object of many a gossiping tongue. The women were fascinated and more than one wished for the courage to approach him. The men who did approach him were summarily rebuffed, much to Nadir's dismay. Although he joined Nadir for dinner every evening, his ominous, brooding presence served to dampen the others' spirits. Finally, Nadir could take no more, and on the fifth day at sea, he went to Erik's stateroom and confronted him.

Admitting that he was beyond trying to be patient and understanding, Nadir chided Erik, pointing out that his childish behavior was not helping anyone, least of all himself. Erik stared impassively at Nadir, unmoved by the other's wrath.

"Erik, listen to reason, man!" Nadir continued. "You have been given the rare opportunity to start anew, to build a new life for yourself, in a world where there is no Opera Ghost. Do you wish to squander this gift?"

Erik finally had the grace to look away. "I am not aware that I am … squandering … anything, Nadir. One reason I remained hidden for all these years was because I could not be accepted for who I am … a situation that evidently is not going to change."

"You aren't giving people a chance, Erik," Nadir began.

"Give. People. A. Chance.?" Erik spat out incredulously. "You are asking far too much, Sir!"

"All I am asking, Erik, is that you not sit at dinner tonight and glare at our fellow diners."

With a noncommittal shake of his head, Erik put on his cloak and his fedora and headed out to the deck, where he stood and watched the horizon. He could not forget Nadir's words, though. Perhaps there was a kernel of truth in what Nadir had said. Perhaps he did need to give others a chance. Grimacing at that, Erik began pacing the deck.

Six days after it left Liverpool, the ship docked at the port in New York City. Erik endured going through Customs with rare good grace – something Nadir noted approvingly.


	3. A Brave New World

_**A/N Thank you, Mandy and Musique et Amour ... y'all are simply the best!

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**_

Once they passed through Castle Garden, the immigration facility operated by the state of New York on the southwest tip of Manhattan, Nadir breathed a sigh of relief. Erik was unusually cooperative, and the two obviously wealthy men were shown a great deal of respect and lenience. Nadir could not help but feel some sympathy at the plight of the other immigrants. Those who spoke no English, or with large families, or with an ill relative would not fare as well as he and Erik had. 

Although Nadir was eager to continue their journey to San Francisco, he was acutely aware of Erik's intense aversion to captivity. Thus, Nadir once again found himself making hotel arrangements for the two of them.

The dirty, noisy, crowded conditions in Liverpool did not prepare the men for the conditions in New York City. Erik thought, rather cynically, that if the Europeans who were so eager to immigrate to America could see what was waiting for them … well, Americans would no longer have such a huge influx of immigrants to deal with. Instead of the land immigrants thought to purchase, many of them did not have the funds to leave New York City, and so were forced to live in tenements with many of their former countrymen.

And what pigsties the tenements were! Noisy, crowded, stinking masses of people crowded together in tight spaces. No yards for the children to play in; they ran the streets from the time they got out of school until they were called in for dinner and bed.

The one hope for immigrant families was the free public education available to all children ages six through sixteen. Unfortunately, many families could not afford to lose their children's earnings, and no one paid a child to simply sit in a schoolroom. But for those who could afford it, sending their children to school did offer at least the possibility of an improved life down the road.

Yet other children were not so fortunate. Some estimated over a thousand 'street rats' – homeless children , either orphaned or castaways – were wandering the streets of the city, preying on anyone who looked like they had something to lose.

The people of New York City were not nearly as respectful of Erik and Nadir's appearances as their British counterparts, and Erik was disgusted by the number of beggars who approached the duo. Erik was quite pleased that he had the foresight to obtain weapons in Liverpool. Nadir glanced warily at him from time to time, but held his tongue. He could feel the tension rolling off the other man in tangible waves and did not wish to add to it.

That night in their hotel room Nadir asked Erik if he was ready to begin their long train ride to San Francisco, or if he wished to spend more time in the city. Although Erik found little to redeem New York City, he was not eager to resign himself so soon to being confined to a couple of cars on a train. He was accustomed to walking, and was determined to cover every inch of Manhattan.

Summoning a bellhop, Nadir inquired if there were any sights they should see during their stay. The young man, eager to impress the wealthy European visitors, grew animated as he described P. T. Barnum's circus at the Hippodrome – a great show of nature's curiosities and oddities. Erik, staring out over the city at the window, struggled to maintain control of his temper. Nadir, realizing Erik's distress, thanked the bellhop and dismissed him quickly. He walked over to his friend and raised his hand to touch the other man's shoulder; then hesitated and withdrew it as he remembered that it is not wise to touch Erik when his mood was black.

"How dare they?" Erik spat, contemptuously. "How _dare_ they parade people around … _oddities _and _curiosities_! It is too bad they don't parade themselves as examples of stupidity, of how low a man can go …" his voice trailing off into a sob, he sank to the floor as memories of 'The Devil's Child' flooded his mind. Nadir stood by, helplessly, as Erik, shook, his body wracked with sobs. A few long minutes later, Erik rose still trembling but composed, and grabbing his cloak and fedora, strode to the door.

Nadir stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Where are you going, Erik?"

"I am going to free those people," Erik answered, shrugging him off. He was not able to name the feeling, but compassion was mixed with the anger and sorrow coursing through his body.

"Free them?" repeated Nadir. "For what? Where will they go? What will they do? How will they survive? It is different here, Erik. Side shows pay their..." he struggled, searching for a proper term.

"Freaks," Erik hissed and Nadir flinched, continuing:

"They often made a successful career out of it. Nothing like what you had experienced when you were young as a forced attraction."

Erik froze, then turned around to face his friend. "Then perhaps I should kill them all … put them out of their misery. They serve no purpose after all," he stated coldly with a disdainful shrug.

Grabbing Erik's arm in a firm grip, Nadir pulled him to the mirror. "Look in the mirror, Erik. _Look_ at that man. Are you going to sentence him to being a wanted man once again?"

Erik seemingly did not hear him, or pretended not to, so Nadir pressed on. "Even if you were successful, Erik, even if you did … free … those people, others will take their place! There may be a way to help them, but … jeopardizing your future here is not the answer. _Look in the mirror, Erik!_ "

Erik collapsed onto the bed, looking hopelessly at Nadir. "You are right, of course. I will do nothing tonight."

The next morning, Erik announced he was visiting the circus. Once he had extracted Erik's promise to not do anything rash, stupid, or illegal, Nadir reluctantly agreed to accompany him. Although he would not ever agree that Barnum had any moral right to parade these people around for society's entertainment, Erik did concede that they seemed to be treated as employees … they were fed, clothed, and given a place to live … and were not beaten.

Finally, he had seen enough, and the two men took their leave.

By Thursday, Nadir was disheartened, but tried to hide his growing despair from Erik. _What was Madame Giry thinking? These Americans! They have taken the worst of Europe but none of the good. Did she have any idea how … provincial … this country is? And if New York City is their idea of sophisticated … _With a heavy heart, Nadir settled their hotel bill and arranged for their bags to be taken to the ferry.

The trip to San Francisco began with taking a ferry from Manhattan to Jersey City. The stay in New York City had left its mark on the men, and their fellow travelers treated them with a new wariness. There were hundreds of immigrants and their meager belongings were stowed in the shed leading to the dock. The porter remarked that Thursday was a good day to travel; the crowd was relatively light. News that the two of them took impassively. Neither one betrayed their disbelief that _anything_ about this trip was _good_. Nadir did not complain when the crowd at the dock parted to allow the two of them to board the ferry first.

Ferry was a glamorous term for the river boat; a walled platform with no seats and only a flimsy awning for protection from the elements. Being first onboard meant being the last to depart; which afforded Erik and Nadir some amount of elbow room, as their fellow passengers ventured only as far onto the ferry as the crowd behind them pushed. Standing, Nadir was concerned with the seaworthiness of the craft, and would not have been surprised had it capsized, seeing that most of the passengers were crowded around the gangplank. Nothing prepared Erik and Nadir for their arrival in Jersey City, however.

Once the ferry was docked and the gangplank lowered, the passengers moved off the ferry like cattle. Impassively observing the stampede, neither Erik nor Nadir objected about being the last to leave the boat. As it was obvious the seamen were not going to assist them, they picked up their bags and made their way off, only to stop dead in their tracks, a look of amazed horror crossing their faces. They could not believe what their eyes beheld.

Leaving the ferry, one had a long walk down a dirt path from the pier to the train station. There were no porters, so the passengers had to carry their bags themselves. The final insult was the train station itself. There was no building for the waiting passengers and the only available food were oranges and nuts being sold by boys along the path from pier to tracks. The passengers were forced to stand on the platform until the train was ready to be boarded.

Erik and Nadir stayed at the fringe of the mob careful to avoid touching or being touched by the unwashed mass. To add insult to injury, the train was already at the station, but the cars remained locked for over an hour. The only thing that alleviated the situation was the lack of rain. Nadir did not even want to think how badly the conditions at this train station could deteriorate under a sudden downpour. As if he could read the other's mind, Erik cast a glance at the overcast sky. Although ominous looking, the day remained dry.

On the advice of the helpful ticket agent, Nadir had chartered a Pullman car to San Francisco so that they did not have to change cars at the whim of the railroad personnel onboard the train. As most of the immigrants could not afford the Pullman car, Erik and Nadir found some peace once onboard. Their valet, eager to be helpful, remarked that they might wish to consider staying over in Chicago for a day or two. Much of the city had burned in the Great Fire in October 1871 and the ruins were well worth seeing. Realizing that neither man was particularly interested in his news, the valet left them alone at last.

Raising an eyebrow, Erik remarked grimly to Nadir, "Although I found the British boorish, Americans are simply mad."

"I have to agree with you, Erik. I can't help but wonder if your Madame Giry had any idea how wretched this place called America is," he answered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Finally, the train began to move. If all went well, it would take seven days to get to San Francisco. Nadir was no longer looking forward to that arrival; his goal had been reduced to getting himself and Erik through each day in the best he could. Between the images of the circus and the thoughts of the fire at the Opera, Erik had retreated deep within himself, and hours went by with neither one speaking to the other. Their valet was attentive, and the food at the various stops was edible. Nadir did not need to worry about Erik's reaction to the forced inactivity; he was so introspective that Nadir doubted he noticed.

The ride to Chicago seemed interminable, with many stops along the way. The stop in Philadelphia brought on a different class of passenger. 'Easterners,' as these people called themselves, used the train to commute short distances between cities. Although they did not need the sleeping car, many of them purchased Pullman tickets so that they would not have to share a car with the immigrants.

Speaking amongst themselves, the Easterners bemoaned the influx of immigrants to their wonderful country. Nadir could not help but overhear much of the conversations and was torn between amusement at their misplaced snobbery and disgust at their attitude towards people not so unlike themselves. Nadir almost envied Erik his uncanny ability to totally ignore his surroundings, yet never be mistaken for easy prey, as those who seem to be unaware often are.

The excitement on the train was almost palpable as it drew nearer to Chicago. Nadir was dumbfounded at the eagerness with which Easterners looked forward to seeing the burnt ruins of one of 'their' cities. That was his error, of course. Easterners refused to consider any city west of Philadelphia or south of Washington DC 'civilized.' In fact, one or two friendlier passengers attempted to warn Nadir and Erik that traveling to San Francisco was a mistake; New York City was simply _the_ place to be. The expression on Erik's face never changed, and the passengers retreated to silence in embarrassment. They were not sure if the man was deaf or, god forbid, a _foreigner!_

Leaving Philadelphia, the train traveled through Pennsylvania, crossing the Allegheny Mountains, stopping at small stations along the way. It arrived in Pittsburgh, but neither Erik nor Nadir got off the train. Without an appetite, the need for toiletry or the general desire, there was no use. The train continued through Ohio and, finally, entered Indiana, where all civilization seemed to have stopped. There were smaller stations, and the train stopped at all of them. Occasionally, Erik and Nadir would leave their car for a short meal or a cup of tea, but Nadir was becoming almost as depressed as Erik seemed to be.

With each passing mile of track, Nadir wondered about Madame Giry's motivation in sending Erik to America. _Perhaps she still thought of America as Europe's 'penal colony'_ he mused, _and sending Erik into exile here was a fitting punishment. _But that did not explain the care she had taken to make the arrangements for Erik's trip. Nor did it explain the two satchels she had packed with items made expressly for him. Looking at Erik's new mask, Nadir admitted to himself that he simply did not understand why Madame Giry thought that sending Erik to San Francisco would give him the chance to start a new life in a new country, free of the past. Nadir finally realized that he had no idea of the relationship between Erik and Madame Giry, and he ended his silent speculation

Observing his friend, Nadir secretly feared that if given the option, Erik would gladly return to Paris, consequences be damned. He cringed at the thought of Erik being tried and found guilty of murder; his sentence would surely be death. If, in fact, he was even brought before the authorities; the lynch mob was eager for his blood.

Shaking himself soundly, Nadir put all such thoughts out of his mind. Erik was not going to return to Paris, the two of them were on their way to a new city with new identities. For Erik's sake, if not his own, Nadir could not allow himself to join Erik in wallowing in the depths of despair. _No_, he decided. _Madame Giry knew what she was doing when she made these plans. It will all work out for the best_, he told himself.

He silently prayed to Allah that he was right.


	4. Spirit of the West

_**A/N I apologize to my readers for the long delay between updates. I am planning to update this fic in a more timely manner from now on!**_

_**Many thanks to my friends and betas, Mandy the O and Musique et Amour, for their generous assistance.

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**_

Leaving Chicago, the journey took on an entirely different feel. Easterners used the train for short commutes, but once the train left Chicago, passengers settled in for a comfortable journey as it would take several days to reach San Francisco. 

Erik continued to silently gaze out the window as the train covered mile after mile of open prairie. Nadir, hiding behind his newspaper, took advantage of the opportunity to observe their fellow passengers, most of whom seemed to be single men. There was the occasional family or two; more than likely on vacation. For the most part, when families moved west they traveled by wagon train. Other travelers often noticed furniture and other burdens left behind as the settlers realized they needed to lighten their load in order to survive the arduous journey to California.

Not only were the passengers single men, but by the second day of silently observing them, Nadir made a startling realization. _These men, whether taciturn or talkative, outgoing or loners, are all running from something! It's almost as if Antoinette knew, somehow, that Erik would be safe here. Men who have something to hide don't nose around in other people's business..._ He did not realize he was chuckling until he felt Erik's gaze. With an imperceptible shake of his head, he returned to reading his paper, not looking around until he was sure Erik had resumed watching the passing landscape.

Erik was grateful for the silence. He found himself not truly minding the other men in their car. They seemed to keep to themselves, and did not try to engage him in idle conversation. Unlike Nadir, he did not wonder what life would be like in San Francisco. Although he did not lie to himself – he was grateful that Antoinette had saved his life – he knew that without Christine, he would not be fully alive no matter where he lived.

Nadir had made reservations for them at the Palace Hotel, where the staff was readying an apartment made of several rooms in anticipation of their arrival. He was not certain how long the Palace Hotel would be home, but the accommodations, plus a large and attentive staff, would make it a comfortable way station for the two men.

* * *

The train finally arrived at the Oakland Wharf. Remembering the ferry from New York City to New Jersey, Nadir was not confident in his ability to coax Erik off of the train and onto another boat. They were amazed to learn that the entire train would be ferried across the Bay to the Ferry Building at the foot of Market Street. The crossing took an hour, but it was spent in the relative comfort of their train compartment. When the ferry docked, the train pulled into the station where a carriage awaited them.

* * *

Once they arrived at the hotel, they were given a taste of what life would be like while they called the Palace Hotel "home". Attentive staff anticipated every need. Their satchels were snatched away by the bellhops, waiters served them tea in the luxurious waiting room, and the Concierge was eager to answer their questions. 

"We are honored, gentlemen, deeply honored that you have chosen the Palace Hotel to be your home in San Francisco. We offer the finest private dining experiences, where you will have the opportunity to meet the _crème de la crème_ of San Francisco society. Nothing but the best for our guests. If there is anything you need, anything at all, a press of the 'call bell' in your apartment will bring staff immediately to your door."

Erik merely looked impatiently at the man, never one to be tolerant of the overly friendly. Nadir broke the silence before it became uncomfortable: "Thank you very much. We are certain that we will find everything here to be more than satisfactory."

Ignoring the disgruntled twitch of Erik's lips, Nadir continued: "We will, of course, need suggestions of places to visit as we become acquainted here." Leaning closer, he added in a low voice, "...as well as the areas which should be … avoided … by gentlemen such as ourselves."

"Indeed, there are no such places in this grand city!"

At that, Erik did not even try to hide his scoff of disbelief.

"Honestly, my good sirs, you will find San Francisco to be the epitome of civilization! Nothing like those cities back East," he added with a sneer. "Surely you could detect the difference even at the Ferry Building!"

Remembering the trip from New York City to New Jersey, the men nodded. "It is true," Nadir replied, "that the transportation in this city far exceeds what we experienced … back East."

The Concierge smiled at that. _Fast learners, they are._

Erik caught both Nadir's reference and the Concierge's approval of the same, and filed that away to examine more closely once they had settled into their apartment. _I wonder if he is typical of the common laborers in this city. Overanxious, eager to please, inflated opinion of one's self and one's city_.

"Gentlemen, in addition to our exemplary room service, there are private dining rooms located on the second floor of the Hotel. Here you will have the opportunity to meet with others much like yourselves; gentlemen of great wealth and refinement."

Nadir suddenly fell victim to a coughing spell, earning him an amused look from Erik which deepened into a scowl as he reflected on the concierge's words. _Gentlemen … of refinement? Here? In this … outpost? If the "gentlemen" we have observed so far are typical of those we'll meet here …_

Nadir, recovering quickly, apologized as he took another sip of tea. The Concierge waved an impatient hand."No need to apologize, my good Sir. But, if you will excuse me, I will see to the status of your accommodations." Rising, he all but bowed to them as he took his leave.

"Nadir..." Erik began.

"Now, Erik, do not jump to conclusions. Your Madame Giry must have known what she was doing to send you here. You must remain open-minded. Unless, of course, you _wish_ to live the rest of your life as an outcast."

Erik nearly snapped at Nadir, but catching sight of the Concierge's rapid return, he swallowed his annoyance.

"Gentlemen, I have wonderful news! Your apartment is ready and waiting for you. If you will please follow me. Oh, and you may leave your cups behind. Staff will be along to retrieve the dishes shortly."

They entered a small redwood-paneled room. "Gentlemen, the Palace Hotel has five hydraulic elevators which will take you to whatever floor you wish. They will also take you to the Roof Promenades, should you wish to avail yourselves of the view our beautiful city offers." Reaching their floor, the Concierge waved them enthusiastically off the elevator, then led them to their apartment. "As I may have mentioned before, there is a call bell in each of your bedrooms and also in the parlor. If you should need anything, anything at all, a press of the call bell will bring staff to your door within minutes."

While Erik wondered laconically if the man repeated that in his sleep, Nadir was tiring of his obeisance. Neither man wished for deferential treatment, just the basic respect one should show for a fellow human being. _It is always one extreme or the other_ Nadir mused. _I must admit though. This is better than being treated like dirt beneath their feet._

Both breathed a sigh of relief when they were finally alone in their apartment. They unpacked their satchels and turned down their beds for the night.

* * *

The men found their accommodations at the Palace Hotel to be more than suitable. The Hotel was eager to serve as the home base for the two wealthy men, and thus made sure they were satisfied with the accommodations. Erik and Nadir were both relieved to have separate bedrooms at last and they quickly discovered that the Hotel lived up to its reputation of being the "grandest hotel west of Chicago". Living there, the men enjoyed the seclusion each craved, with an attentive staff to see to their every need. 

Erik was bemused at the hum of activity that surrounded San Francisco. It was much more genteel than he had hoped, more closely resembling a European capital, in contrast to the brashness of New York City. They explored the city for hours on end, and both of them silently congratulated Antoinette on her choice of location for Erik's exile from Paris.

It did not take long for the men to discover the waterfront was indeed an area which they would be wise to avoid, so naturally it was an area Erik frequented. Pacific Street was nicknamed "Barbary Coast" after the Barbary pirates in North Africa. To some, the name signified the exoticnature of the area; to others, it was a warning. The primary choice of victim was a sailor on shore leave. Residents of the city who did not earn their living on Pacific Street generally avoided the area.

As the weeks passed, Erik grew more comfortable with his surroundings. Although he never completely relaxed, he was finding it easier to go to the private dining room on the hotel's second floor. He began meeting San Francisco's elite; bankers, railroad barons and other industrialists; judges and congressmen, including the senator who had been the partner of the man who designed the Palace Hotel and was now living in his deceased partner's mansion.

Nadir did not attract untoward attention in this cosmopolitan city. Single Muslim men began arriving in San Francisco in the 1870's, and while the inhabitants did not openly accept them, they were not maligned. In the years before Henry Ford articulated his "melting pot" philosophy, San Francisco was more tolerant of its immigrants than most American cities.

Although Erik did not seem to encourage familiarity, the highest echelon of San Francisco society was drawn to him. His attitude of aloof indifference proved to be irresistible to those who were accustomed to having others openly court them. Always a student of human nature, Erik learned a great deal from his observations in both the hotel's private dining rooms and in the homes he was subsequently invited to.

* * *

At one such visit, Erik could not believe his eyes, and was amazed that he could hide his shock and distaste from his host. The U.S. Senator was hosting a dinner party, and insisted on his presence. As it was Erik's first visit, he was treated to a tour of the grand mansion. 

At over 55,000 square feet, Ralston Hall was an odd conglomeration of styles. "Officially" it was a modified Italian villa. The area surrounding the grand staircase to the second floor, however, was modeled on the Paris Opera House. The mirrored ballroom echoed the Versailles tradition. The remainder of the public area, however, was done in the popular "steamboat Gothic" style; the doors either slid into or folded flat upon the wall to allow guests easy access to the public areas. Even the "double sun-parlor" was designed to replicate the promenade deck of a riverboat.

Erik was stupefied. It was just as well he had a reputation for reticence as he could not find anything polite to say about the monstrosity he was touring.

* * *

Although neither complained about the accommodations or service at the hotel, Nadir wanted Erik to think of San Francisco as his new home. He began to encourage Erik to think about building a house of his own. Erik knew that Nob Hill was truly the safest place for him to live as the city's wealthiest residents had readily accepted him. He set about designing a home that would serve both of their needs. The U-shaped house he designed had an imposing facade. 

He designed a wing for each of them, giving Nadir carte blanche on the interior designs of his rooms. He did not realize it until it was finished that his own wing was suitable for a growing family. The first floor of the base of the "U" housed the grand entrance, foyer, a sweeping staircase to the second floor ballroom, a parlor, a dining room, and a library. The third floor was designed for servant quarters. The first floor of Erik's wing had a conservatory with a piano, a library, a parlor, and a sunroom. Several suites were on the second floor.

Looking at the floor plans, Erik was slightly appalled at what he had drawn. _Oh, Christine, we could have been so happy here. I would have happily given you anything you wanted. _A dark cloud stole over his features at the thought that perhaps she would have wanted children. _Well, not anything – not children, ever!_ He cringed at the thought of another person bearing the face he was born with. Understanding the sorrow on his friend's face, Nadir pointed out that designing the house for a large family would add to its resale value, and so Erik's wing remained as it was.

Nadir's wing resembled the Persian Court. The first floor sunroom opened onto the interior courtyard. There was a simple unfurnished room to which he could retire to pray five times a day in keeping with his religious tradition. His bedroom and parlor also occupied the first floor. The second floor was fashioned into suites much like Erik's wing. Although there were not many marriageable Muslim women in San Francisco, Nadir was prepared to follow Allah's will.

* * *

Once the floor plans met with the necessary approval, the two men set outlooking for a piece of property that would support such a house. They found a suitable address near the top of Nob Hill and set about purchasing it. That completed, Erik hired a general contractor to build their home. Being no stranger to construction, he was a frequent visitor to the job site. He had exacting standards, and expected the contractors to do superior work. He rewarded handsomely for a job well done, and the contractors became fiercely loyal to him. 

Over a year later, the house was completed and the domestic staff hired. The men moved out of the Palace Hotel in 1883. Sorry to see the two wealthy, undemanding men leave, the Hotel issued a standing invitation: they would always be welcome in the private dining rooms.


	5. The Bride

_**A/N Sorry for the delay, but Real Life has a way of messing up the best laid plans ...**_

_**As always, many thanks to my friends and betas, Mandy the O and Musique et Amour - for everything.**_

**

* * *

**

_Boston, Massachusetts, 1870_

"_**Wanted:** 100 Marriageable Young Ladies!_

_Rich lumber baron is seeking young ladies of good repute._

_The promising new town of Seattle is overrun with healthy, young lumberjacks who crave the comfort of a wife and family._

_Interviews are going on now at the hotel! _

_Do you have what it takes to be a frontier wife?" _

Molly O'Reilly read the advertisement in the general store with growing excitement. A Seattle lumber baron was seeking marriageable young women to move to Seattle, marry, settle down and raise a family.

Not that she had any intention of doing that! No, 16-year-old Molly was determined to live life on her own terms, which most definitely did not include getting married and settling down!

Her parents had indulged her as best as two poor Irish Catholic immigrants could indulge a headstrong daughter. They were bemused, however, by her strange ideas. Educated by nuns, they hoped she would learn to accept her lot in life: marry one of the neighborhood boys and raise a family. Strikingly beautiful, her auburn hair, green eyes, and pale skin caught the eye of many a young man. She rejected them all without a second glance.

Other elders in the neighborhood tried talking to Danny and Siobhan, telling them their daughter needed a firm hand; whether it be her father's or her husband's. They shrugged the criticisms off, thinking that perhaps Molly was right in rejecting her potential suitors.

Even so, try as they might, they could not solve the puzzle that was their daughter. She stayed to herself, quietly daydreaming unless provoked by someone's foolish or thoughtless statement. Then she was a sight to behold! Although the youth in the neighborhood loved to see Molly afire for some cause or another, all were careful to not get close enough to be burned.

Molly had grand ideas, and being a wife and mother did not play into them. Oh no! She wanted to travel, to see the world, to explore areas she had merely read about. The first course of business was earning the money so that she could set off on her own.

Telling her parents that she had been a drain on them long enough, she applied for positions as nanny in the privileged households in Boston's Beacon Hill. Most of the young matrons who interviewed her were terribly jealous of her youth and her beauty and no one was willing to place such temptation under a husband's nose. Molly assumed her Irish heritage labeled her as unsuitable. She would have been incredulous, then furious, had she realized the true reason she was rejected.

Having just endured the latest round of rejections, Molly read the advertisement once more, taking note of the hotel. Eager to talk to her parents, she ran through the streets, not caring how hoydenish she looked or what other people thought. Bursting through the door, she babbled the news.

Danny looked at his flushed, breathless daughter, then at his distraught wife. Siobhan could not believe the disheveled young woman standing in front of her was her daughter. Throwing up her hands in despair, Siobhan walked out of the parlor.

"Go to your room, Molly O'Reilly. Your mother and I are going to discuss what we are going to do with you. I will call you once we've decided." With a final glance at his daughter, Danny went to his wife.

Anger flared in Molly's eyes. She bit her tongue but could not help but stomp out of the parlor to her bedroom. _I don't care what they decide! I am leaving. If I have to lie to get out of here, well … lie I will. _Packing her meager belongings in an old satchel, she crossed the room. Stopping at the door, she reconsidered. _The least I can do is listen to them. If I don't like what they've decided, I'm ready to leave. A few more moments will not make a difference_.

* * *

Danny walked into the kitchen. Seeing his wife's shaking shoulders, he wordlessly crossed the room and took her into his arms. 

"I'm a failure," she sobbed. "God gave me a daughter to raise to be a blessing to Him and to us, and I've failed."

"Nonsense," he replied, "Molly is a confused young woman, but that isn't your fault." He rocked his wife until, tears spent, she pulled away from him and wiped her face on her apron.

"Perhaps Molly has stumbled upon the answer," he said slowly. "Perhaps this is God's will for her."

"What do you suppose God's will is for our daughter, Danny?"

"I cannot believe Molly would intentionally defy her God by refusing to marry the young man he selected for her. No, our Molly would not do that, even as confused as she is. It must be that her young man is waiting for her, elsewhere. There is a young man in Seattle just waiting for our Molly."

"She will be a missionary for our God! She can go west, and take the Church with her! She will marry and bear many children. Oh, Danny, of course. This is what has been driving our Molly forward. God has whispered in her ear, and like the devout girl we raised her to be, she is answering God's call." Siobhan's face lit up with relief and joy..

Their laughter filled the kitchen as Danny grabbed his wife and danced her around the small space.

"Stop it! Stop it this instant, Daniel O'Reilly. I can't breathe, you fool man!" Siobhan gasped finally. With a final squeeze, Danny released his wife, only to grab her hand.

"Let's call Molly and tell her the wonderful news, then."

"Let's," agreed his wife. "How blessed we are, Danny, to have a God-fearing daughter like our Molly."

* * *

Molly could hardly believe her ears. Caught by such surprise, she was speechless. _God's will? They think my brilliant idea was God's will? _Taking her silence as a sign that she was ready to grow into being an obedient wife, Danny and Siobhan thanked God for showing them His path for their daughter. 

Shock served to keep her subdued; thus, she did not disabuse her parents of the conclusion they had reached. _Why should I? Why should I cut off my nose to spite my face? I have won. Does the reason _why _really matter?_

* * *

John Albright was enjoying the flood of young beauties in the hotel's one conference room. He interviewed each and every one, trying to ascertain her motives and potential. Molly entered the room, and stopped dead in her tracks. She had never before seen so many lovely young women in one place. Had she not been so determined to leave Boston, she would have turned and left the room. 

John noticed Molly the instant she walked into the room, and excusing himself from the women swarming around him, hastened to the door to greet her.

Giving her his most charming smile, John took her left hand in his, kissed her knuckles. "You'll make a very, very fine bride..." Misunderstanding him, embarrassment flared hotly in her cheeks, and he frowned, then chuckled kindly, shaking his head. "Not for me, mind you. For one of the upstanding men who work for me in Seattle."

Molly nodded her head slowly, realizing that she had to play along in order to be accepted for the trip. He wasn't aware he was holding his breath until he exhaled in relief. Questioning her, he was dismayed to learn that she was not an orphan. _Surely her parents have her future husband selected._

"But, that's all right, Mr. Albright. My father is willing to sign whatever papers you need."

"I need to speak to him as quickly as possible, then. The train leaves at 7 AM tomorrow."

Molly left, only to return with her father.

"Mr. O'Reilly, your daughter," glancing down at the paper, he pretended to search for her first name, "Molly, is it? Yes, Molly, has expressed her wish to return to Seattle with me in the hopes of securing a husband and raising a family. Is this acceptable to you and her mother?"

"Mr. Albright, the wife and I have discussed this opportunity, and we feel it is God's will for our lovely daughter. So, yes, this mission is acceptable to her mother and me."

Forgetting herself, Molly rolled her eyes at this. Her father did not notice, but it did not escape John's thoughtful gaze. _Oh, so she's not sure this is God's will for her? No matter, she obviously wants to go to Seattle very badly. She'll make some lucky man a fine wife. I'll not betray her feelings to her father._

"Her mother and I are humbled that our God would choose our little Molly for such a grand task," Danny continued, oblivious to the silent communications between John and Molly. "But, who are we to question God's will? No, Mr. Albright, you'll have no objections from us. Give over the forms or whatnot you need to have signed and I'll be on my way."

John produced the contract, explaining to Danny that by signing it, he was stating that his daughter was marriageable and had his consent to travel to Seattle in search of a husband.

Realizing that she had won, Molly stopped listening to the two men. Lost in her dreams of adventure, she didn't notice the looks of wholly masculine satisfaction they exchanged, nor did she hear John's hiss of a drawn breath as he caught sight of the pure joy on her face. Hearing her father call her name, she refocused her eyes with a start and was relieved to hear that she would be leaving Boston the next day.

* * *

Molly O'Reilly joined John Albright and ninety-nine other prospective brides for the train ride across the states. John had chartered several Pullman cars for the trip. His own compartment was in a separate car; he would not compromise any of the young women's reputations. A few of the ladies questioned his absence, but for the most part, none of them really noticed he wasn't around. Although not nearly old enough to be their father, John had a paternalistic air about him, which served as an effective barrier. Giddy with excitement, the young women chattered for the better part of the first day of the trip. 

That evening, the valets came through and made up the beds. Although the women claimed they were too excited to sleep, not one managed to stay awake once she was tucked into her berth, the swaying of the cars on the tracks imitating the rocking of a cradle. So soothed, all slept well.

By the third day, boredom was setting in. Sitting on a train, hour after hour, did not bode well with them, and petty bickering broke out. Molly's greatest fear was that John would reconsider his plan, and send them all back to Boston. She desperately cast out ideas for amusements that would keep the other women entertained.

The women loved the idea of picturing their future husbands, and so took turns carefully describing the perfect man. Of course, no two specimens were alike, so there was much good-natured jostling as they laughed at each other's ideas of a perfect man. The day was complete when John distributed letters written to the women by the lumberjacks. As none of these were personalized, they were shared among one and all, until each woman held a letter that she thought was written by her "perfect" man. Molly realized with a start that she alone did not have a letter. _Oh well_, she thought to herself, _'tis fitting as I'm not one to be looking for a husband to tie me down._

The fourth day, the scenery changed. They had left the last outposts behind; miles of prairie stretched out before them. About midday, one of them spied a wagon train lumbering along besides the tracks, and all of the women rushed to the windows to see it. Although the train was traveling at the unbelievable speed of 30 miles an hour, it was possible to look at the faces of those in the wagon train. The fatigue etched into their faces gave testimony to the hard journey the trip cross country by wagon train was. Not a single grumble was heard the rest of that day.

Traveling across the Sierra Nevada mountain range was an adventure, and the women gasped in awe as the train reached the summit. Lumbering down, it approached Sacramento, and finally, eight days after they left Boston, the brides reached the Oakland wharf. San Francisco was a ferry ride across the Bay, and the women gasped as they realized the entire train had pulled onto the ferry for the crossing.

After the long days on the train, staring at mile after mile of open prairie, Molly could not believe San Francisco, and she wondered for a moment if she should lose herself there. Looking about, she decided it was much too built up, much too civilized, much too like Boston for her to ever be happy there. _No, I will continue on with my plan. I will go to Seattle, and make my way from there._

Leaving the train in San Francisco, the young women boarded a side-wheeler from San Francisco to Seattle. John had debated about spending a couple of days in San Francisco, but he was eager to deliver the brides to his lumberjacks. The seven-day trip was rough, and many of the young women spent most of the time seasick. John was concerned that once they realized what an outpost Seattle was, many of the brides would regret their decision and demand to return to Boston. The memory of the wretched week on the boat went a long way in preventing that; most of the young women could not bear the thought of ever boarding a boat again.

* * *

Although the women were eager for dry land again, they were devastated by their first sight of Seattle. Although none of them expected a city as large as Boston or San Francisco, neither did they expect a village consisting of a handful of buildings; three of which were saloons. John gave a fine speech, meant to be inspiring but missing its mark. Exchanging looks amongst themselves, the young women finally began to pick up their satchels and move towards the gangplank. 

All of a sudden, the dirt road was filled with men. It did not take long after the side-wheeler was sighted for the word to spread, and the lonely men, deprived of the sight of women for so long, abandoned their duties and rushed to greet the boat and hopefully meet a young lady or two.

If the young women were not already taken aback, the sight of dozens of men running down the paths to the dock, whooping and hollering in their excitement was nearly enough to make the women decide to return to San Francisco, seasickness be damned.

* * *

Several of the men tripped over themselves in their eagerness to help Molly with her one satchel. Smiling grimly, she tightened her hold on her bag and assured the men that their help was not needed. Observing this, John Albright was torn between annoyance at her attitude, admiration for her gumption, and hope that she would eventually choose him. 

Had anyone been watching John, they would have seen him jump as if physically prodded. Startled, he turned away from Molly, thankful that she had not seen him, after all. So it was that he did not notice her walking towards him, satchel in hand.

"If I may, Mr. Albright, I'd like a word with you," she stated calmly.


	6. Seattle

_**A/N My undying gratitude to my friends and betas, Mandy the O and Musique et Amour ... thank you.

* * *

**_

Startled for the second time in just a few minutes, John spun around. He composed himself quickly and smiled. "Is there a problem, miss?"

"Oh no, sir," she replied quickly. "I just wished to thank you for this wonderful opportunity you have given us."

Stunned, he examined her face quickly, trying to decide if she was mocking him or not.

Blushing under his scrutiny, Molly tried to explain, stammering that she was serious. "Even though this town called … Seattle? … is not quite as large as I expected, I see a great deal of possibility here."

He continued to gape at her, not sure if she were serious or not. Remembering her ill-concealed aversion to her parents' plan, he wondered for a moment if she was poking fun at him and his town. Uncomfortable with the growing silence, Molly apologized for disturbing him, then turned to walk away.

She did not get far as the deck was still quite crowded. Regaining his composure, he strode over to her. "Please, allow me," he said as he reached for her satchel.

Smiling brightly, her earlier embarrassment forgotten, Molly allowed John to take her satchel.

"So, you think Seattle shows promise?"

"Yes, I do! Oh, thank you so much for bringing me – us – here," she exclaimed. Blushing brightly, she began to apologize. "I'm sorry, I have a tendency to get overly excited at times, and my …"

"No, don't apologize. I think it's charming," he responded with a grin. "If I may be so bold, I'd like to ask you if I may call on you, once you're settled in." At her quizzical look, he added, "To discuss the town's future, of course."

Confused, Molly stammered her consent.

John and Molly quickly became an item. He was enchanted by her optimism and she was excited to be a part of the adventure of building a new town. It amused him that she seemed to be the only one who didn't realize he was courting her.

* * *

Molly's optimism was tested over the coming months. The young women were living four to a room, in the only hotel in town, and it did not take long for them to become dissatisfied with the arrangements. Forced inactivity was adding to the general malaise which came over the group; there simply was not enough for them to do. Although the men were happy the women were in town, they had their work to do and did not have hours of idleness on their hands. To make matters worse, John expected Molly to take charge of the women and encourage them to have good attitudes.

It all came to a head one night when they were out walking. "As my wife, Molly, you will be the _de facto_ first lady of Seattle," he pointed out to her. "As such, it will be your responsibility to set the tone for the other women to follow."

Molly had had it. She was tired of the monotony of the days. It was bad enough she was trying to find things to do, but now to be responsible for keeping ninety-nine other young women busy and happy? It was too much to expect of one person, and Molly exploded.

"How dare you?" she yelled at him. "First of all, your _wife_? You are assuming that I will be your wife! Second, you are not the mayor of this … this … this outpost! Third, since when am I responsible for those other women? And how dare you suggest that they should just be happy, sitting around doing nothing! These women came here expecting to find husbands and have their own households to run. None of us are ladies of leisure." Her anger spent, Molly tiredly turned away from John.

She was not expecting him to wrap his arms gently around her. "I'm sorry," he murmured in her ear. "You're right … I have no right to expect you to keep their spirits up. It's just, well, it's just that you're so optimistic and so happy … I was hoping you could teach them to be, also."

Molly couldn't help but giggle at this. "You make it sound like optimism is a blanket I can spread over them!" Suddenly, she spun around, her eyes dancing merrily. "That's it! That's it. You're a genius, John!" Had he not been holding her firmly in his arms, Molly would have taken off, running into town.

Although he was pleased at her renewed enthusiasm, John was puzzled. "I don't understand, Molly. What's it?"

"It's so simple, John, I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. All of these young women are here looking for husbands. Once they are married, they will have to set up their household."

John remained puzzled. "But, none of that is exactly news, Molly dear."

"John, do you have any idea what it takes to set up a household? Just the linens, quilts, and curtains can take months to make. Once we purchase the supplies, the women can then spend their days making items for their future homes."

Promising to speak to the boat's captain the next day, John was relieved at how satisfied Molly was with her new plans. Knowing they should not linger out in the darkness by themselves … especially not with their arms entwined around each other … John released his hold on her. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to the path which led back to the hotel.

Molly told the other women her ideas the next morning. They were all very excited about this; not only would they have something to do, the tasks would fuel their dreams of becoming wives and mothers. The only downside was the length of time it took for the side-wheeler to travel to and from San Francisco. The young women were going to have to wait nearly three weeks to get the materials they needed.

* * *

Once winter came, the men had more time for socializing, the three churches in town reaped the benefit as the young ladies refused to be seen in one of the saloons, and the hotel's parlor could not accommodate the hundred brides and their suitors. When she arrived in Seattle, Molly had been pleasantly surprised to discover a Catholic church had already been established.

About the same time, one of Seattle's leading families began a drive to build a Baptist Church. Molly went to one of their meetings, not knowing that John and the patriarch of that family were sworn enemies. When John learned of Molly's involvement, he told her she needed to disassociate herself from that group.

"You don't understand, Molly. They have been doing everything they can to disrupt my logging company. They fought my idea of bringing 'brides' to Seattle. They want me to fail." Seeing his arguments were not persuading her, he changed tactics. "Besides, a _Baptist_ church, Molly? Seems to me you're a God-fearing Catholic missionary lady here following God's will to spread the Church to the heathens and lawless." Unfortunately, he could not stop the grin that formed, which riled her all the more – at him.

"Excuse me," she began heatedly, "but it seems to me that you of all people would recognize the value of a church, no matter the denomination, in this town."

"But, Molly … a _Baptist_ church! What will your parents think of that?"

"I am a registered parishioner at the Catholic Church," she replied primly. "I will be married in the Church and my babies will be baptized there. I am doing my part. But, if other people choose to find … other ways … to worship God, well … I am but a young woman. What could I possibly do to convince them of the waywardness of their actions?"

He raised a brow at that but grudgingly conceded. "You are not my wife, yet. I cannot order you to stay away from that faction." Molly bristled at this, but remained silent. John either did not notice, or chose not to acknowledge her rising temper.

* * *

John continued to court Molly, and by the time the side-wheeler returned with the needed dry goods, John was ready to propose to Molly. He thought that she wanted nothing more than to be his wife. He was not prepared for her reaction.

"John, please try to understand," she began gently, "I have no interest in getting married – tying myself down – the whole point in coming west was to … _escape!_ … society's expectations of what a woman should do with her life."

Taken aback, John's response was uncharacteristically harsh. "I have your father's signature on the contract, Molly. The contract that states that you are marriageable and seeking a husband. If you refuse me, I will have no choice but to return you to your father's care."

"You're telling me that I don't have a choice? So, I am no more than a slave … property to be passed from one man to another? I could have had that in Boston!" Whirling on her heel, she stormed off in anger.

John caught up with her easily. "Molly! Be sensible." Grabbing her elbow, he turned her around to face him. He stopped short at the look of angry revulsion on her face. Pulling her close, he wrapped his arms around her. "Is the thought of being my wife truly that horrifying to you?" he asked in an agonized whisper.

Shocked at the pain in his voice, Molly embraced him. "No, no. No, it really isn't. I'm sorry … I never meant to hurt you. It's just … I need a little time. Please?"

He stared at her for several long moments before finally nodding. "It's getting late. Let's get you back to your room," he said, closing the subject for now.

* * *

Molly paced, agonizing over the decision she needed to make. _What is wrong with me? I did _not_ come out here to get married! But, I can't bear the thought of hurting John. Do I love him? Is that what this means? I don't know! And there's no one I can talk to about this. I will _not_ return to Boston … Do I want to strike out on my own?_

Molly sat down on her bed. _Is that realistic? Is that what I want? I don't want to hurt John, he is a good man. I would miss him if he was gone … is that love? Is that enough to base a life on?_

Crawling into bed, her mind continued to race. _When did what I want change so? I came out here looking for adventure, and found … a husband? No! That is not what I wanted. So, why am I losing sleep over this? I need to leave; it's time to move on._ Determined to leave the next morning, she finally slid into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Waking up, Molly quickly dressed and went to join the rest of the young women in the hotel's dining room. Listening to the chatter, feeling the easy comradery, her resolve began to slip. She tried to hold onto her vision of freedom, but all she felt was a bleak loneliness. Returning to her room to fetch her hat and gloves, she finally admitted to herself that her dreams had changed. Her "ideal" future included John, Seattle, and all of the friends she had made since leaving Boston. She waited to feel the familiar sense of suffocation that typically accompanied the thought of being tied down, but it was gone. _This decision just feels … right_! She marveled to herself. And so, with renewed optimism, she went to find the man who would be her husband.

* * *

Looking grim, John watched Molly approach. He searched her face, and noted the pleased look upon it. _She has obviously made a decision. I hope it makes me as happy as it has her._

Molly was so wrapped up in her daydream that she did not notice John's grim look.

With tears in her eyes, Molly joyfully said "Yes! Yes, I will marry you, John Albright" and threw herself into his arms. Laughing, he picked her up and swung her around. He then told her he had a surprise for her, and after helping her into the buggy, he climbed up, took the reins, and started out of town, away from the lumber mill.

Molly was puzzled; she had no idea what John wanted to show her. About fifteen minutes later, a house came into sight. It was a large, rambling one-story house. Stopping the horses, John jumped down, then reached up to help Molly out of the buggy.

"Where are we, John? Who lives here?" she asked.

"This is my home, Molly. I live here, and once we are married, you will too," he replied, quite pleased with himself.

Molly turned to him with a frown. "But John, this is nowhere near town."

John looked at Molly, puzzled. "No, it's not. Come on, let me show you the inside," and tugging on her hand, pulled her along.

Molly pulled her hand back, and John stopped in surprise. "What is wrong, Molly? Surely you aren't afraid to be alone in our future house with me?" he asked, only half-joking.

"I'm sorry, John … No, of course I'm not afraid to be alone with you! That's not it at all," She all but stamped her foot as her frustration grew. "John, you pride yourself on being a town leader in Seattle, and rightfully so. You own the largest business in town, and you care enough about your employees, and the town, to have made the trip to Boston to recruit marriageable young women."

John stood looking at her, no longer certain there was a point behind what she was saying.

Reading the look on his face, Molly all but growled in frustration. "John!" she said, "listen to me! You … no, _we__ need_ to live _in_ town."

John continued to look at her with bemusement. "But, why on earth would we want to live in that … town … when we have all of this land out here to ourselves?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"How can you expect your employees and their brides to build houses in town when you refuse to live there?" she asked. "How do you expect Seattle to grow if no one builds it up?"

Understanding dawned, and John grabbed Molly and swung her around again. "I knew I loved you for a reason!" he exclaimed. "You're right. You are absolutely right. We shall live in town." Then his face fell and he asked, "Does this mean you won't marry me until the house in town is built?"

"Don't be silly, John. I will marry you, knowing that you will build a house for us in town. In the meantime, I would love to see your house."

Setting her back down, John grabbed her hand and tugged her along. She laughed at his enthusiasm, but her laughter stopped as she crossed the threshold. She was standing in the largest room she had ever seen. "It's a shame this house is so far from town," she finally managed to murmur. "This would have been a perfect dormitory for the brides."

"You don't like it?" he asked with obvious dismay.

"It's so … big!" she finally replied. "I don't understand why a single man would want such a big house." Looking about, she noticed a cook stove in the far corner. "And everything's in one room?"

"Well, I didn't want everything partitioned off, chopping up the space," he answered.

"You certainly don't have that," she responded as gently as she could. "But surely you don't object to having the kitchen …" her voice trailed off as she took in the stubborn set of his face. Sighing, she finally added, "And the bedroom is …"

"Now, that's a room of its own," he answered proudly. "Are you sure it's proper for you to be in my bedroom before we're married?"

"Of course," she answered smartly. "Just not at the same time that you are. Point me in the right direction, and I'll be back shortly."

Mumbling under his breath, he pointed to a door in the middle of the left wall. Taking advantage of her absence, he looked again around the great room that was the main portion of his house. _She's right,_ he realized suddenly, _this would have been an ideal dormitory for the brides. Or a lumber camp for my men. I need to start thinking on a smaller scale … the house in town will have to be much smaller. With divided rooms._

"What's wrong, John? You have an awful look on your face."

"Just realized that you are right, Molly dear. This room is far too big for a single family. Maybe we'll see about dividing it up some, once we get the house in town built. If nothing else, we'll need bedrooms for the young'uns."

Laughing at the blush on her face, he picked her up and twirled her around again. "Oh, Molly! You have made me the happiest man in Seattle!"

Returning to town, they selected a lot on which to build their new home. John admitted to himself that although he did not want to live in town, it was a small price to pay to have Molly as his wife.


	7. A New Direction

_**A/N I apologize for the lengthy delay, but 'real life' has a way of mucking up the best-laid plans.**_

_**Thank you, once again, to my betas - Mandy the O and Musique et Amour. Your assistance is priceless.**_

* * *

John sent word to Danny and Siobhan that he and Molly were going to be married in Our Lady of Good Help Catholic Church in town. Molly laughed at that. "John, sometimes I just can't believe how old-fashioned you are!" she teased him.

Undeterred, John told her they were waiting for her parents' blessing before getting married. Eventually, the O'Reilly's letter arrived in Seattle. Needless to say, they were thrilled that Molly had at last found a man to take as her husband. That they were getting married in the Church was all the O'Reillys needed to hear.

* * *

Molly and John were married, and she moved into his house though at her insistence, they began drawing up plans for their new house in town. She did not want anything ostentatious, but she wanted it to make a statement. This was not about John and Molly Albright, after all; this was about Seattle.

John fell deeper in love with his bride every day. He loved her enthusiasm and he tried to match it, although he still was not certain he would be happy living in town. He could understand Molly's view, though, and wanted to make her happy. Living in town would be a small price to pay, he decided.

They worked together for hours at a time, drawing up plans for Molly's dream house. She wanted it to be two stories, and John teased her that she wanted a traditional New England colonial house in Seattle. Knowing her own mind, she ignored his teasing and went on with her plans. They hoped to have a large but close-knit family, so Molly wanted the second floor split in half. One side would be their sons' bedroom, the other would be their daughters'. Their own bedroom would be on the first floor. A kitchen, formal dining room, and parlor completed the first floor, with a water closet just inside the back door.

John laughed out loud when Molly told him that she wanted a formal dining room. But, she was adamant. Seattle was not going to remain a little outpost, and as Seattle grew, so would John's importance in the town. Therefore, she wanted a dining room in which they could entertain the town and area business leaders.

As much as John hoped Molly's vision for Seattle would come to fruition, he secretly feared it would take decades for it to occur.

Molly spent most of her days in town with the other women. They discussed putting their gardens in, planned quilting bees, and spent hours speculating over who was courting whom and which bride would be expecting next. As excited as she was about building the new house in town, Molly admitted to herself that she was more content than she ever thought she'd be Her only source of dissatisfaction was each month when she realized, yet again, that there was not an Albright baby on the way.

Sundays were spent quietly. She and John attended Mass in the morning, then socialized with the other parishioners before returning to their home. They took many long walks, as John was eager to show Molly everything he loved about the land. She begged him to teach her to ride a horse, insisting that she ride astride. He laughed until she stormed off, then started laughing again when she reappeared, wearing a pair of his trousers.

"Molly, you can't be serious!" he started.

"I can and I _am._I'm not going to risk breaking my neck because some damned fool decreed that 'ladies' ride sidesaddle," she scowled, storming past him into the barn.

"Molly, wait. Sweetheart! You're right, I'll help you. I certainly don't want you breaking your neck."

Saddling the mare and gaining her seat took Molly the remainder of the afternoon. Gritting her teeth, she assured John that she was serious about learning how to ride a horse.

"Molly! That's fine, but … you are not to try to ride alone. Don't look at me like that! I am not being autocratic nor bossy. You are a novice, and could easily get hurt. Maybe someday, once you're an accomplished horsewoman, but until then it's simply too dangerous for you to go out riding alone."

Molly's first inclination was to argue with him, but even she saw the wisdom in his words. Walking over to him, she caressed his face. "Do not worry yourself, dear Husband. I will wait until you can teach me. I will not go off on my own."

Searching her face, John felt himself relax as he realized she would not lie to him. "I will teach you, dear wife," he promised, picking her up and swinging her around. "Even if you insist on dressing like a boy instead of the beautiful woman you are!"

And so, every free moment they could spare was spent in teaching Molly to ride a horse. She never complained, although John knew her muscles were protesting at the unaccustomed exercise. Much to John's surprise and delight, Molly soon became quite a horsewoman.

* * *

_Molly thought that the day the men began building the Albright's new house in town was one of the happiest days of her life. She stood as close as she could without being either underfoot or in harm's way. Day after day she watched as their house took shape. And so she was there the day her world came crashing down._

_The day started like any other. There was no hint of the disaster which was going to strike. The house had been roughed in, and the crew was to shingle the roof. Unfortunately, several men were ill, whether from food poisoning, as they claimed, or from drink, as Molly suspected, did not matter. There were not enough men available to finish the roof that day, but John was determined that the house be secure before bad weather set in. He told the men who had reported for work that they were, in fact, going to shingle the roof that day. His goal was to have the entire roof done by sundown._

_The crew mumbled amongst themselves. It would be impossible to get the entire roof done with the small crew healthy enough to work. Ignoring the grumbling, John went up on the roof and began the first row of shingles. The roof was steep, and an experienced crew would have known to take the necessary safety precautions. Before setting the shingles, two or thee rows of 2x4s, set about 3 feet apart, needed to be ran. The men would then brace themselves on the row of 2x4s as they shingled the roof._

_Although John had shingled roofs before, he had never been part of the set-up crew. By the time he realized that they had neglected the important step of nailing in the rows of 2x4s, it was too late. Losing his footing, John slid off the roof and in front of his crew and his beloved wife, snapping his neck. He was gone in an instant._

_Molly flew to her husband's side and tenderly cradled his head in her lap. Sobbing quietly, she covered his face with tears and kisses. A couple of the men came and lifted her up, then carried her away. She struggled, twisting and turning, finally screaming at them, "NO-o-o-o-o!"_

John woke up to Molly's incoherent screams. "Wake up, Molly!" he said, shaking her. "It's just a dream, sweetheart, it's just a dream. You're all right," he added, folding her into his arms. He rocked her back and forth until her sobs subsided.

"Oh, John, it was so horrible! Promise me, promise me, please. Don't go on the roof!"

Confused, John agreed. _Anything to keep her from the heartbreak she dreamt of._

* * *

John and Molly supervised the construction of their new house. John supervised the construction, rather; Molly supervised him. She was so upset by her nightmare that she could not bear to have him out of her sight. He humored her; hoping that as time passed, the nightmare would fade.

He was pleased to see the other houses being built around theirs. _Molly was right_, he mused, _I need to listen to her woman's intuition more often._ Although he suspected that she was behind the sudden surge in houses being built in town; a woman would not be pleased with being stuck in a house by herself all day, far from neighbors. His frown returned. _If only we could have children. Then Molly wouldn't be stuck anywhere alone. _

They moved into their new house just before Thanksgiving. The Albrights planned an open house for all of Seattle, and the other brides spent the week helping Molly prepare the food. Thanksgiving Day was chilly but dry, which was one more thing Molly was grateful for. The only bleak spot in Molly's life was the lack of children. _Why can't we have a baby? John will be a wonderful father; I know I am a huge disappointment to him._ Straightening her shoulders, she pasted a cheerful grin on her face and went to greet the first guests.

* * *

The first Thanksgiving in their new house was a huge success. Molly loved living in town; she went visiting nearly every day, but loved having the freedom to return home when she wanted to, rather than having to wait for John to come fetch her. The population of the small town was steadily increasing as most of the women who had answered John's advertisement in Boston had married and many had become mothers. Her heart aching, Molly greeted each new baby lovingly. _One of these days it will be me_, she reminded herself. _One of these days I will discover that John and I will be starting our family._

She was determined to remain cheerful. She felt she owed John that much, at least, especially since he had built the house of her dreams for her, in town! She knew that he was not keen about living in town, but he never betrayed any unhappiness to her.

* * *

Two weeks later, Molly woke to the unsettling feeling of the earth moving beneath her. A feeling of _déjà vu _descended over her as she realized that John was not in bed with her. Donning her robe, she belted it securely, then lit a small lamp to light her way as she moved through the dark house.

"John?" she called out, annoyed with how feeble she sounded. "John!" she called out a little more strongly. Still, only silence answered her.

"John?" she continued to call his name, unaware of the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. "John, where are you?" Reaching the water closet – their home was one of the first in Seattle with such a thing – she was dismayed to find it empty. "John, this isn't very funny!" she finally snapped.

She made her way up the stairs to the two empty bedrooms, waiting for little Albrights to fill them. She took longer than necessary to see that both rooms were empty. Her heart was pounding and her stomach was in her throat as she descended the stairs and walked to the front door.

Opening the front door, her fear and dread mixed together, leaving a vile taste in her mouth as she walked barefoot to the street. Her footsteps faltered as something out of a nightmare--_her_ nightmare--filled her vision. Her husband lay in the street, sprawled on his back, limbs akimbo and his head twisted at an impossible angle.

She dropped soundlessly to his side and tenderly cradled his head in her lap. For several moments, there was nothing but shock. Finally she broke. Sobbing quietly, she covered his face with tears and kisses. She did not know how long she stayed like that, but shortly after daybreak, two of their neighbors came and lifted her up, then carried her away. She struggled, twisting and turning, finally screaming at them, "NO-o-o-o-o!" At her screams, the women in town came running to see what was the matter, and the owner of one of the saloons, Miss Biddy, enfolded Molly in her arms. Standing in the middle of the road, she rocked Molly as the other woman sobbed inconsolably.

As suddenly as her hysteria started, it was over. She gratefully agreed to stay with Miss Biddy. Officially, the worst earthquake in the area did not cause any deaths; unofficially, the townspeople knew better. Molly did not know why John had left their bed in the night, she had no idea why he was on the roof precisely when the earth began to shake, and quite frankly, she did not care.

She was grateful for the numbness that saw her through the funeral and the wake. She was grateful that she slept dreamlessly in her small room over the saloon. She knew that she needed to return to their … her … home, but she was in no rush to do so. Little did she know that not only was she widowed, she was also penniless and homeless.

John Albright was a man of vision, and he saw the potential in Seattle. Unbeknownst to Molly, he invested heavily in the town, and mortgaged his land … and the buildings on it … to a group of businessmen in San Francisco. Once word of his death reached them, they descended _en masse_ to survey their holdings. The men quickly agreed that Molly could not run the lumber operation, so they took over the company. Since she no longer had any income, she could not pay back the loans John had taken out on their home and land. They allowed her access to the houses one final time so that she could remove her personal belongings, but they refused to believe that one of the horses and saddles belonged to her. Molly didn't really argue with them. She was exhausted with the effort of getting through the day. Besides, there was no place at Miss Biddy's to stable a horse.

Molly didn't want company as she went through the house one final time, so no one was there when she find the note.

_My dearest Molly,_ she read as tears flooded her eyes. Blinking them back furiously, she read on.

_By now you undoubtedly know that my life was a lie – a sham – and, like a house of cards, it has all caved in on me. _

_I am so sorry, Molly. You are young, and you are free. I love you,_

_John_

_It's all my fault,_ she realized suddenly. _I wouldn't accept him as he was – I forced him to build this house he never wanted – and I gave him nothing in return. Not even children._ Tucking the note into her small bundle, she left the house dry-eyed and resolved to not look back.

Miss Biddy insisted that Molly continue to stay with her. Molly would not accept charity, so she learned to tend the bar and serve the customers.

She was a fast learner, and ordinarily, Biddy would have appreciated the extra pair of hands. Unfortunately, it soon became obvious to the two women that John's former employees were avoiding Miss Biddy's saloon. They had placed Mrs. John Albright on quite the pedestal, and were not happy with her perceived fall. It was a dual-edged sword. Their adoration of her prevented any from courting her; her circumstances forced her to work.

* * *

Molly began planning her next move. As much as she liked Biddy, and was grateful for the other woman's companionship during the long cold months since John's death, Molly knew she had no future in Seattle. She listened to the seagoing men in the saloon, and their talk of Portland piqued her interest. She did not know precisely when she would leave, but she trusted Providence would guide her.

Not that she gave much thought to God in the weeks after John died. Molly was angry at a God who could show her a new life, then just as quickly snatch that life away from her. _John had so much to live for,_ she grieved silently, _if only I had given him a child. Perhaps then, he would not have been on the roof that night._ Knowing that such thoughts were foolish, Molly strove to neither think nor feel anything beyond what was required to survive each day and long lonely night.


	8. Starting Anew

_**A/N Sorry for the delay between updates ... real life keeps messing with me.**_

_**As always, many, many thanks to my friends and betas, Mandy the O and Musique et Amour.**_

* * *

Molly continued to stumble through the days and nights of her new existence. She neither knew nor cared what day it was; she had not been back to church since John's funeral mass. Her parents' letters went unopened and unanswered. She'd lost so much weight that her mourning gown hung limply on her too-thin body. And so it was with shock that she caught sight of her reflection one day.

She took a second look, and did not recognize the woman staring back at her. Her once beautiful, shiny auburn hair was drab; her bright face was dull; her sparkling green eyes empty. She noted the deep purplish circles under her eyes, and wondered at the gauntness she saw. _I look like a walking corpse,_ she thought to herself. _And__ I don't much care._

Miss Biddy's concern grew daily, but she was unsure how to broach the younger woman. She did not want to get the priest involved – what would that man know of love and loss? – and once the funeral was over, Molly's former friends avoided her. _They are so ignorant! _Biddy fumed. _They think tragedy is contagious._

* * *

Six months after John died, the side-wheeler captain began paying special attention to the Widow Albright. Although very discreet, it soon became apparent that Capt. Will Sanford had his heart set on taking Molly to wife.

Miss Biddy realized that Will could solve their problems. He would most likely make an agreeable husband, and once Molly was gone, the lumberjacks would return to Miss Biddy's saloon. And so, with no remorse, Biddy actively campaigned for Will.

"Molly, I know that you don't think you'll ever love another man. But you're young! You have a lot of years ahead of you, do you really want to spend them hiding in my saloon?"

Molly flinched at Biddy's cold tone, but agreed to think it over. Returning to her small room, Molly contemplated her choices. _I could stay here, but why should I? My friends have deserted me, and even Biddy grows tired of my presence. I could strike out on my own, but do I really want to do that? Or, I could encourage Will to court me. Why he thinks he wants me is beyond my comprehension, but … Yes. That is really the best option for me._ Thus decided, Molly retired for the evening. Her last thought was, _Should I feel guilty about using Will?_

The next time Will came into the saloon, Molly greeted him with a sad smile. Seeing this, Biddy felt a slight twinge of guilt, but brushed it off. _This is for the best for everyone concerned_, she reminded herself. _It serves no purpose for me to be bankrupted because the damn fools in this town can't handle the sight of the Widow Albright working as a barmaid. And, Molly is too young to be alone. Will is a good man, and he obviously loves her. Yes, this is for the best._

* * *

As the weeks went by, Molly found herself almost looking forward to Will's visits. He would be gone for three or four weeks at a time, transporting passengers and cargo between San Francisco and Seattle. He had the chance to expand his business up the coast to the far north, but he didn't want to stay away from Molly for extended periods of time. As it was, he spent nearly every waking minute in Seattle in her company at Biddy's saloon. Molly could not bear the thought of walking the same paths she and John had walked. Her heart ached at the thought of someone else living in the house he had built for her, and catching sight of the women she had thought to be friends scurrying away from her, eyes averted … no, there was little reason to leave Biddy's saloon.

And so, although he continued to sleep on his boat, Will spent most days in her company at the saloon. He courted her slowly; careful not to push the grieving young woman. He brought her small gifts to let her know that even when he was out at sea, he thought of her.

Molly had heard the excited ruckus when Will's side-wheeler was spied coming into Seattle, and she realized that even as she served the customers, she was keeping an eye out for his appearance. The evening wore on, and still no Will. Closing time came, and Molly helped Biddy clean the bar. Finally, Molly realized that he was not coming to see her that night. Biddy, seeing the hurt and disappointment on Molly's face, hugged the younger woman. "You know he's busy when he first comes into port. He'll be here first thing tomorrow morning … mark my words!"

Molly smiled sadly as she returned Biddy's hug. "I know, you're right. I'll be fine."

Biddy shook her head as Molly bade her good night. _Sleep well, my dear. Will is a good man, and he loves you._

* * *

The next morning, Molly grimaced as she pulled on her black dress. _I'm so tired of wearing black! This dress is awful – I'm too young to be a widow._ Instantly ashamed of herself, she silently apologized to John. _I miss you so badly. Oh, John …_ She closed her eyes against the pain, then, taking a deep breath, finished dressing and left her room.

As usual, she was the first one up. She stoked the fire in the wood stove, then began preparing breakfast. She moved woodenly through the motions, unwilling to dwell on her pain. _Does no good to sit around and mope, _she reminded herself once again. She started as she realized someone was pounding on the back door.

She slowly opened the door to see a grinning Will standing there, with his arms behind his back. She smiled at him as relief flooded through her. "Good morning, Will! I was just fixing breakfast … would you like to come in?"

"Good morning, Miss Molly!" he exclaimed. "Something sure does smell good," he remarked as he walked through the door. Molly was still smiling as she closed the door behind him.

"Well, you're in luck. Nobody else is awake yet, and I'm afraid I'm cooking enough to feed a small army." She returned to the stove to check the pots and was relieved to see that the oatmeal had not stuck to the pan while she answered the door..

"Can I help you with anything?"

"No, but thank you for asking. Please, just sit down … breakfast will be ready shortly."

Biddy had awakened when Will knocked on the door. Laying in bed, she listened quietly to the conversation in the kitchen then, smiling broadly, she rolled over and went back to sleep.

Once breakfast was finished, Will handed Molly a large brown paper package tied up with string. Opening it, she could not hide her gasp of delight. There was enough fabric for her to make three new dresses. A blue cotton calico for everyday, a green taffeta which would make a perfect traveling suit, and black satin so that she could replace the tired black dress she had worn in the months since John's death. There was a smaller package inside, and upon opening it, Molly discovered black velvet trims and buttons. She fingered the materials lovingly, then brought the satin to her face. Closing her eyes, she rubbed it across her cheek. Suddenly remembering Will's presence, her eyes flew open and she dropped the material.

Will was looking at her with bashful hope in his eyes. "I hope you like 'em, Miss Molly. I'm not in the habit of picking out materials for a beautiful woman."

"Oh, Will, I don't know what to say. They're beautiful … they're _perfect_. Thank you so very, very much. I won't be able to wear the new dresses for a few more weeks, but I can start making them now. I don't want anything to get spilled on the fabrics, Will, so I'm going to put these away for now."

Molly all but danced to her room. _Thank you, John … thank you._ Laying the pack carefully on her bed, Molly caught sight of her reflection. Although still pale and drawn, her eyes had an unmistakable sparkle in them. With a final glance at the material, Molly closed the door to her room and rejoined Will in the kitchen.

* * *

Will's stay in Seattle was shortened when he was asked to deliver time-sensitive cargo to Portland. Molly was disappointed that he was leaving so quickly after arriving, but she was eager to start work on her new dresses. She and Biddy pored over the _Godey's Lady's Book_ looking for patterns for the three dresses Molly would make.

"I'll make my everyday dress first, I think," Molly said as she found a dress with front tucks, puffed long sleeves, a dropped front waist, and deep pockets which would serve her well as she began her new life in Portland.

She then found a traveling suit which featured a full skirt and fitted jacket. The black satin was also two pieces. The blouse buttoned in back and had tiny pintucks on the yoke. The full skirt was smooth in front with a bustle in back. The lustrous fabric, plus the trims of black braid, ruffled black lace, and a beaded flounce distinguished this gown from the widow's weeds she had been wearing.

* * *

A year and a day after John's death, Molly agreed to marry Will. Seeing little reason to wait, they decided they to get married the following month when Will returned to Seattle. They had a small civil ceremony with only Miss Biddy and the judge's wife present. Afterwards, Miss Biddy tearfully kissed Molly good-bye. "Will's a good man, Molly. I am certain the two of you will be very happy together."

"Thank you for everything you've done for me this past year. I will miss you, Biddy," Molly replied with tears in her eyes.

"Oh, posh!"

"No, I mean it. You befriended me when everyone else shunned me. I don't know if I could have survived this past year without you."

"Be happy, Molly. You deserve it, my dear. And John would want you to be."

Nodding, Molly turned to her new husband.

"Ready, Mrs. Sanford?" he asked with a smile.

_Well, that certainly sounds better than the Widow Albright,_ Molly thought suddenly. Smiling shyly at her new husband, Molly replied, "I am indeed, Captain." Biddy handed over Molly's small satchel, and the newlyweds left for Will's boat.

* * *

Molly moved into Will's house in Portland, Oregon. She no longer had the naïve enthusiasm which made John fall in love with her, but Will was a patient man. With his encouragement, Molly made a few friends. He was at sea for weeks at a time, and he was concerned that Molly would be unhappy, sitting alone in their house, day after day.

Knowing how concerned Will was about her adjustment to life in Portland, Molly set about decorating their house. She purchased red and white gingham fabric, and made cheerful curtains for the kitchen windows. She then made velvet drapes for their parlor and bedroom. She hosted the ladies' sewing circle once a week, and gradually found her place in Portland among the shopkeepers' wives. Her days were full, and she would drop into bed each night, too exhausted to be lonely for her husband. The Sundays when Will was gone were the worst for her. Her friends invited her to attend services with them, but she politely declined. The day would yawn on endlessly, and she would keenly miss her husband. There were times when she thought her longing for children would kill her.

Molly still wanted children, and she was disappointed each month when she realized it was not to be. Most of her friends were mothers, and Molly longed for a baby. When she was the last of the group without a child, Molly kept to herself more and more. She grew more despondent with each passing month, and Will began to fear for her sanity. Always reticent, she spoke less and less as time went on.

He tried to convince her to sail with him, but Molly refused. She did not know how he could stomach that wretched trip up and down the coast; and the thought of being captive in their cabin, with nothing to do for days on end was not appealing to her. She thought about taking the teacher's test, but realized that no school would hire a married woman. Realizing that charity work was the only socially acceptable outlet, she volunteered at the local hospital.

Nights when Will was at sea were the worst. Once her chores were finished and she was settled for the night, it was difficult to keep t he memories of a young girl with such dreams for her future at bay.


End file.
